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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688361">Choreographing a Pandemic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lukas17/pseuds/Lukas17'>Lukas17</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pandemic, Multi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:20:45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>653</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lukas17/pseuds/Lukas17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been months since any of them had left the house for more than a simple walk and things were starting to get interesting.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar), Aang/Katara/Zuko (Avatar), Aang/Zuko (Avatar), Katara/Zuko (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Choreographing a Pandemic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is late, and for that I am sorry. But in my defense I work in healthcare in the middle of a pandemic.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was on an ordinary Tuesday morning, of an ordinary September day that Katara realized the pandemic had affected them way more then she thought.</p><p>“What are you doing?” She’d asked, looking over the two men. Aang’s hair had grown out a bit and covered his head in a soft fuzz. But that morning it was covered in chewed gum. Besides him Zuko had stuck another strip in his mouth.</p><p>“Uuhhhh.... what does it look like we’re doing?” Aang asked. His face was genuine, as if he thought she was merely confused, which she was, but because she was clearly living on a completely different wavelength then them at that moment.</p><p>So she turned and left the room. Whatever happened in there happened, and a court couldn’t compel her to testify anyway.</p><p>She went downstairs to see that it was still relatively clean. The makeshift office Zuko had made near the TV was still in disarray and Aang’s various sports equipment were all strewn about. She carefully crossed through the area towards the kitchen.</p><p>Pacha sat on the counter, eating from her bowl that was meant to be by the door but was moved for some unnamed reason. Pacha didn’t care where she got her food, only that she did get it, and happily ate from the bowl wherever that bowl might be.</p><p>Katara switched on the TV to some entertainment channel. One with a lot of make over shows and discussions about food. It’d been a while since she’d sat down in a restaurant but she enjoyed the fantasy of actually seeing another person.</p><p>Upstairs there was a crash. She pretended not to hear it. They couldn’t prove anything in court.</p><p>She opened the door to the backyard where the dirt of their little homestead was warming up. In a few weeks they’d be planting seeds. Perhaps doing it during the week, since it didn’t look Katara would have anything to choreograph any time soon.</p><p>“I think the gum made it harder.” Aang complained, he came down with a freshly shaved head. Behind him Zuko also came down, and tried to subtly throw away gummed up clippers into the trash. She pretended to not see the weapon.</p><p>“Do we have any more left?”</p><p>“About half a pack.” Zuko answered.</p><p>“You better order more after this.” She sighed. Outside the bit of pavement their garden had was cold.</p><p>“-Tik Tok users have all decided to collaborate on a musical based on the animated movie, Ratatouille.” The newscaster said.</p><p>The screen flashed with the moments long videos the kids put up of costume designs, choreography, and music. Behind Katara, Zuko got hard to work on breakfast which would probably be instant ramen knowing him.</p><p>She plopped down, suddenly enraptured by the show. Watching the seconds long clips of creativity the kids all had posted to their accounts. Unpolished, but fun. She’d, of course, seen the movie when she was a teen. She remembered the plot. She...</p><p>“Aang come on, I want to try something.”</p><p>Her demand was not well received, and she had to force Aang into a pair of dance flats and drag him to an empty space of the living room. They’d both met in dance class in college, but Aang’s proficiency in the sport had dwindled in the past few years.</p><p>“Okay, I’m assuming the song will be in 13/4 time.”</p><p>“What song?”</p><p>“The song for the Ratatouille musical!”</p><p>“There’s a musical?”</p><p>“No, but we’re pretending there is. It’s an up number so it’ll start on the up beat. Ninety beats per minute.”</p><p>Her cluttered living room was not the studio, and thus when she kicked a figuring off the shelf it launched into the wall, leaving a large chip in the white paint and scaring both the cat and Zuko who then dropped the phone.</p><p>But it was okay, the little routine got thousands of views by that afternoon.</p>
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